LND: Looking with my Mother's Eyes Gustave's POV
by Tara16rider
Summary: This is Gustave's POV set after the ending to Love Never Dies. He shares the summary of life after his mother's death and his father, the phantom, taking him under his wing. How does he cope with his mother's death? Inspiration from LND and PTO 2004 film


**Looking with my Mother's Eyes**

This is Gustave's POV set after the ending to _Love Never Dies_. He shares the summary of life after his mother, Christine's death and his father, the phantom, taking him under his wing. How does he cope with his mother's death? How does he forgive Ms. Giry and put the past behind him? Inspiration from LND and PTO 2004 film. Rated K.

That night at the pier is forever ingrained in my memory. The sight of my mother lifeless still haunts me. My father, my real one, standing there in shock brought me such pain. How could I not have foreseen his great love for my mother? His holding her tightly listening to her dying song held my gaze; she held him in the same compassionate way for me after any nightmare. I felt a yearning to see my father's frightening disfigured face once more. I attempted to slip the mask off him. He stopped me, reluctant to re-live my first screams upon seeing it. I stared into his dark, mysterious, sad eyes speaking a thousand words between us. There was only an eerie silence, nothing except the crashing of waves against the port. My father kneeled before me and slowly removed his mask. I was silent, willing myself not to run from him, from my mother's death. Instead I recalled her wise words: _"Look with your heart and not with your eyes."_ Her voice is as vivid to me as it was then. In that moment the tears fell uncontrollably from my eyes. There was no one else to turn to; instead I rushed into my father's arms. He was all I had left. His arms slowly wrapped around me and his hands cradled my head. He already knew then I had found the beauty underneath.

Many years later, so many events have passed. The Vicomte, my former father (or so I had thought), had taken my mother's body back to Paris to be buried. My father after my mother's death, reluctantly split the money with Mme. Giry. Immediately afterward, still under the name of Mr. Y, my father disappeared from Phantasma with me. For many years after, my father occasionally stayed in contact with Mme. Giry through letters, still using the skull red seal. In her last letter to him, Mme. Giry mentioned visiting Coney Island to bury the past. There was little left of Phantasma, once my father's greatest marvel. My father's laugh was bitter upon reading how Mme. Giry had been upbraided by Fleck for her greed. It had taken me a long time to forgive her, yet I was relieved to hear Ms. Meg Giry had received help. I last heard from Mme. Giry's letter that her daughter had returned to Paris seeking to bury the past.

For a long time now, my father and I have lived in a New York penthouse, composing operas for the Met under my name. We've collaborated on several together now. (I was trying to persuade him to write a comedy. The last one he had cast had been Il Muto, and that had been decades ago!). To deal with my mother's death, every evening we sat together by the fire reminiscing on her life. Each time my father revealed a little more about her, things I could not have guessed.

"She calls me her Angel of Music," my father said.

He always preferred to speak of her in the present tense as if she was still alive. It was his way of dealing with her death.

Eventually my father was able to open up about his past. I would be lying if at times I wasn't horrified at what he told me.

"There are things Gustave, you can never understand. Like your mother, you can see in me what the world cannot."

My father, having now aged significantly, gave me the idea to take a visit to Paris.

"It's time I saw the Opera House again," he told me after we had returned from a nighttime walk. (My father hardly ever went out during the day).

"Not the one you burned down!"

He smirked at my words, "That one."

Not long after I had our tickets booked for the next ship. After finding a hotel, we walked to the Opera House that evening. (My father had designed a new mask to wear for the occasion that wouldn't make him so recognizable). He knew the Paris Opera House like the back of his hand. My father led me into the Opera House through the side door a young Mme. Giry had used to save him from the circus. When he finally showed me his lair, I was shocked to see a mannequin of my mother. (He never failed to surprise me even after all these years). His tears were uncontrollable as he relived all the past memories he had once told me of. My father was also disappointed to discover his monkey music box missing. I later learned after discovering Ms. Giry that the Vicomte had bought it at an auction. Ms. Giry was beside herself to hear me say I had forgiven her my mother's death. In my mind, I may never have learned of my real father otherwise.

The day my father and I rode on horseback to the cemetery he had once journeyed to before. This time he came with me to visit my mother's grave. While he silently wept beside it, I left him alone to examine my my grandfather and namesake's grave Gustave Daae.

"Father," I said placing my hand on his shoulder to try to console him, "I think I shall take up the violin."

My father met my eyes full of pride for me at sharing his passion for music. Before leaving he left a last gift to my mother: a single red rose with the engagement ring she had once given him.

"My son, I see so much of your mother in you," were my father's last words to me before he died.

I immediately afterward inherited his large fortune made from Phantasma. Part of the money I used to invest in the rebuilding of the Paris Opera House and later as its new patron. I can imagine my father with his rare smile at the irony of where his money was going. I have buried him beside my mother's grave as he would have wanted. Through Ms. Giry, I have reconnected with my former father, the Vicomte, and have helped him settle his debts. (My father would be turning in his grave at my actions). When I realized the Vicomte had indeed truly loved my mother as well, I forgave him for at times his harsh treatment of me as a child. I have written my father's story down: all of it. He was anything but a monster as the world had once treated him. Like my mother had said, he was just a man. Perhaps that's why for all his past violent anger, deep sorrow, love, passion, and loneliness that his story continues to move me to this day.


End file.
